ndr yr chrms
by twennyfree
Summary: 2D & Murdoc have a little thing they call the "Sunday Smoke and Shag" - wake, bake, and screw. Murdoc begins to wonder if 2D wants to go beyond being friends with benefits. Takes place during Phase I. One-Shot. Definitely M.


Because it's 4:20 somewhere...

Ndr Yr Chrms. [Under Your Charms]  
One Shot  
Rated ~ M. Definitely M.  
Pairs ~ Niccals and Pot and...uh...pot.  
Summary ~ 2D and Murdoc have a little thing they like to call the "Sunday Smoke and Shag" - wake, bake, and screw. Murdoc's starting to wonder if 2D wants to go beyond being friends with benefits. More than a little inspired by "Under Your Charms" by Josh Rouse and "This Modern Love" by Bloc Party. Takes place sometime midway through Phase One.  
Warnings ~ Murdoc comes with shreds of a conscience. Also, drug usage.  
Disclaimer ~ Motherflipping disclaimed.

"Muuuuuuuurdoc!" he yells and bangs his fist against the old Winnebago's flimsy door. "Wake up!" He considers adding "you codgy fucker" but he's not completely sure if it'd be a smart idea to piss off Murdoc at the early hour of 11 AM. He shifts in his sneakers, hands jammed into the pockets of his parka. It's always cold in the lot. "Get out of bed!" he yells again, listening to his voice echo in the mostly-vacant lot.

Murdoc, inside and wrapped in a bedsheet made of a giant confederate flag, was lying on his bed in one of those 'too lazy to get out' states when he heard 2D start walking across the carpark. Felt a little more awake when he heard the man banging on the Winne's door. Grumbled and rolled over when he heard him shout to get out of bed. _When's the dullard going to give up?_ he wonders. And then he remembers why the bloke's over there in the first place. So he stumbles out, pulls on some jeans and kicks open the door. "Get in, and shut your sodding mouth," he says.

2D boards the trailer and shuts the door. Locks it. Looks up at Murdoc, his eyes shining. Murdoc's only been around him a couple years, but he's figured out how expressive 2D's black eyes actually are. This morning they look like they're brimming with a secret he's wishing to tell but can't find the words for. And so 2D simply pulls the cannister and grinder out of his pocket, sits down at the grime-covered kitchenette table, and gets to work on a few nuggets. "Fill up a bucket for Medusa," he says. That's what they named the gravity bong, homemade from a two litre bottle of bad rum. 2D had surprised Murdoc by coming up with the name since, as he put it, "she turns you to stone."

2D piles the weed into the bowl and starts to lift the bottle slowly as Murdoc flicks his lighter over the bowl. He thinks about how funny it is that 2D, completely inept at doing simple things like making a sandwich or tying his shoes, is so careful and precise when smoking up. He's brought the bottle up out of the water, and gestures to Murdoc to uncap it and take the first hit, as they usually do. But today Murdoc decides he's going to let 2D take the first hit. Can't even explain what made him decide to do it. So 2D leans over and inhales that highly concentrated smoke, pushing the bottle down as slowly as he can, holding it in and holding it until he feels as though his chest will explode. He coughs like a dying Chihuahua, and Murdoc can't help but snort and point this out. The man looks up at him and gives him a goddamn jack-o-lantern smile. Starts laughing and coughing, too.

"Your turn," 2D finally says. He's feeling pretty good right now, any lingering pain from last night's migraine just a dim memory. He'd probably take another hit after Murdoc, though. Murdoc usually needed three. So 2D goes ahead and gets Medusa ready for Murdoc without the man saying anything. He eyes Murdoc as he presses the bottle down, trying his hardest not to cough loudly as smoke comes billowing out of his mouth. "Whoa," he says, and starts pulling the bottle up again so he can squeeze out another hit.

When Medusa's finally kicked and their coughs have died down, Murdoc leans in toward 2D. "Now _that_ was ssssatisfying. Tell Russ we'll use his guy anytime. How much was the skunk, anyway?"

"Little over a hundred quid for an ounce." Murdoc starts to go over to the safe alongside the bed, but 2D grabs his arm. "'S okay. I don't mind paying for all of it. You usta smoke me up back when we first moved to Kong, anyway." And he does another half-smile. Plops down on Murdoc's bed and stares up at the ceiling.

"Ya doin' alright, mate?"

"Aw yeah, I'm fine," he says. "Just feeling real peaceful. Y'know, when I was in high school and I'd get wicked bad migraines my mates told me to smoke up and see if it helped. And I realized it did, well, at least some of the time. I'm pretty sure my mum knew about it, too, but she never said anything, except this one time where she asked if I had to get drug tested to work at the Organ Emporium."

Murdoc stares over at him. He's heard this story before, heard it probably at least four times in the last four weeks. They've had this ritual going for the last few months: 2D would come over, they'd smoke, they'd fuck. And 2D would invariably end up retelling some stories, especially right after he'd taken a couple hits. There was this one, the one about the time he got attacked by Banksy, and the (probably made up) tale where he let Richard D. James bum a fag off him while waiting at a train stop. But Murdoc's also feeling peaceful, or at least less irritated, and he sits down on the bed next to 2D and ruffles his hair. "You," he says, "are runnin' yer pretty little mouth off and making me ffffar...too..._anxious_."

Black eyes look up at him like a demented puppy. He's greeted with a dumb close-mouthed muppet smile. Murdoc knows 2D's planning something, so he tries to act nonchalant and brace himself. Even turns his head a little bit away, and as he turns 2D launches himself up from the bed and swings his arms around Murdoc.

"Watch where you're waving those damn things, face-ache! Nearly broke my nose again!" But he's laughing, both of them are, giddy like two brothers wrestling as they tumble off the bed and onto the rug. Murdoc tries to worm himself out of 2D's arms; if they'd been fighting upstairs in the studio he would have socked his bandmate in the face and been done with it, but he lets it continue. 2D holds him tighter, wrapping his legs around him while trying to pin the older man's arms outward. Now Murdoc tries to lean in and bite 2D's arm, gets him right at the wrist and feels for a moment like he's gnawing on bones.

"Ya filthy bastard!"

"What was that, nancy boy?" (Except it came out sounding like "Wa wa 'at, naffy oy?")

"Stop bitin' me!"

"Onny ef yeh lit offa me!"

And instead of letting Murdoc go, 2D ducks his head down to his wrist and licks Murdoc's face. He was aiming for his mouth, but ended up sweeping his tongue across Murdoc's cheek instead. He's got a mouth full of stubble and sweat now, but it accomplishes what he'd hoped for - his wrist is freed, the beginning of a pretty large hickey decorating it like a cuff. Murdoc grins like a shark and licks his lips. There's a momentary pause, and then 2D lunges back at Murdoc. This time he doesn't miss.

Now his mouth is full with the taste of marijuana and tobacco and bacteria. It's an acquired taste, he'd be the first to admit, but then again everything about Murdoc takes some getting used to. He feels himself being pulled in by Murdoc's tongue, instinctively gasps and then lets the man take control. For some reason he thinks about kissing before his front teeth got knocked out, and can't remember it feeling as satisfying as it does now. Less teeth means more tongue. Murdoc's thoughts running through his head so easily.

He pulls his face away from Murdoc's, an undignified trail of saliva dripping down onto the man below. Nothing some licking won't clean up -- he ducks down, licks it off his shoulder. He experimentally brushes his hand over Murdoc's pants. He's already getting hard, and from the feel of it he's not wearing any underwear, either. Heck, 2D can feel himself and he wonders if Murdoc's realized it yet. He's still on top of Murdoc, rubs himself into him. "Pull off my damn trousers!" says Murdoc, and naturally 2D has no other choice but to do so.

Yep. Definitely no underwear. He licks his fingers, rubbing Murdoc in between them. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, pinching at him as he rolls it down, so slow he knew it would be agonizing for Murdoc.

The first time there wasn't this much foreplay. They just sucked each other off, cleaned themselves up, and went on with the day's business (in Murdoc's case, rolling back into bed and not appearing until sometime in the late afternoon). Sometimes it was just a handjob. It was only in the last month they'd gotten the courage to start having anal sex. 2D was always the bottom, but he didn't mind, really. If he had to be on the receiving end to feel something from Murdoc, that's how it'd go. Foreplay was the only space where he had the chance to gain a bit of dominance over him, anyway. He loved it, feeling Murdoc struggle beneath him as he teased him with his hands. And he was pretty sure the bassist loved it, too. He hoped he did.

2D gets up from Murdoc, tugging off his pants (why had he thought it was a good idea to wear _drainpipes?_) and his briefs with them. He tosses himself onto the bed, tucks up his legs, hugging them with his feet. They've never done it missionary style. He hopes Murdoc's in the mood for that. He wants to think they'd fuck even if they weren't stoned, that Murdoc isn't using the high as an excuse to bone him. 2D wants to make it feel good for him.

Well, Murdoc rises up, positioning himself above 2D, two calloused fingers press up against the man's butt and he squirms a little. Christ, now Murdoc's teasing him. He needs it, he needs -- he feels Murdoc pushing himself in, not his fingers anymore. Yep, dick's firmly up his ass. And now it's pushing out, and in, and damn, those hits he took on Medusa are making him feel giddy and slightly light-headed as he tries to breathe normally. Murdoc's face is bobbing in and out of his line of sight. He wants to read it, he wants to let Murdoc know how good and happy and in love he feels, _why won't you realize you feel the same way?_

2D's pushing himself against him, his bony back sunk into the bed, his eyes screwed closed and his brows furrowed. Nothing unusual, he's reacted this way before and yet 2D's whole attitude this morning is less charming, less erotic. Everything he's doing, the bucks and shifts and struggling little moans, it's all too perfect. 2D's eyes widen, he looks up and Murdoc stops mid-thrust, catching his breath. There's something in the face below him that's hungry, needy, maybe sad. Funny how much you can project onto fucked-up black eyes.

They don't say anything, and then Murdoc does something he wouldn't have expected himself to do: he pulls out.

2D looks up at him, he's also been taken out of whatever state he was in. Blinks and practically rubs his eyes. "Why'd--" he starts to ask, but Murdoc, he's already tearing out a condom, the gel's in his hands, smearing it over 2D. Tosses himself onto the bed because God dammit, he needs to feel _something_ from Stuart right now, some indication that he's not just going through the motions like it's a fucking band practice.

"Stuart. Get in. I need this."

And 2D is suddenly thrown out of his element, from punching bag to boxer. He looks down at Murdoc, mouth slightly agape. Then awareness kicks back in, and he positions himself over him, presses his hands into the bed as he enters, feeling the muscles inside completely relaxed and pliant. It's as if the bassist had expected this to happen someday, and was waiting for the right moment.

Murdoc didn't know he could get so much from being on the receiving end. Granted, 2D's not spectacular at anal sex; he can tell he's been on top maybe once or twice, but for a skinny man in a flamingo-pink V-neck he does a pretty damn good job. But for the love of sweet Satan, Murdoc feels like he's being purified. Everything seems completely unreal and he has the odd sensation that he's watching the entire ridiculous events from far away. He wouldn't change it. He feels 2D give way inside him and moments later he lets himself go, too. They lay there on the bed for several moments.

"Oi Murdoc, y'need me to clean you up?" Murdoc doesn't answer. He feels 2D pull himself out, the whine of the springs inside the bed as he rolls over, a wet plasticy _thwap_ on the already-grungy carpet. The skinny man leans over toward him, but Murdoc whips off his own condom and makes to slap 2D across the face with it, but 2D, suddenly braver from the shag, ducks and the damn rubber goes flying across the room. They stare at each other awkwardly, then burst out laughing -- 2D's voice cracking, Murdoc's a deep cackle.

"What d'you wanna do now, nancy boy?"

2D giggles again. "Dunno. You?" And the laughter starts over again, God, everything's just hilarious now that they've switched positions. "Sorry if it weren't very good," he says when he's calmed down a bit.

"For what ya had, it was a good try."

"Maybe," and here he pauses, "maybe we should try it sometime when we're sober. See if it changes stuff." 2D says this casually, doesn't want to let Murdoc know he's been thinking about this for the last month. But he knows the man saw him look over to the side. He slumps down in the sheets. They don't say anything for a while.

Then suddenly: "Murdoc!" he says with the urgency of a little kid about to tell their parent something completely trivial. "Let's go to Mexico the next time we're in North America! And buy really great pot."

"I'll say it again, dullard -- them Mexican weeds are _nnnnnothing_ compared to what's in Canada. The government inspects it and everything. If we go to old Mehico, I'm gonna trip on mescaline, drink tequila like it's water, and bone every hot bitch I see."

"What's a mescaline trip like?"

"It's crrrrrazy, you just see lots of colorful patterns, like you know all those Mexican blankets? All those designs, that's what you see on mescaline. I'll see about getting some delivered here."

"But it's not like salvia, I'm not gonna lose my body and stuff and everything moves around?"

"You'll get the moving feeling, but you're not gonna have as bad an out of body experience, mate."

"Good." 2D burrows into the blanket. "Cos I like being here."

Murdoc watches 2D as he falls asleep. It's still a little unnerving for him to see 2D unconscious. But even with his eyes closed and his mouth relaxed, 2D still looks different than he did before the accidents. There's something fragile about him, as though his heart or lungs or mind might give way at any moment and he might fall back into a coma. Shit. He was having those goddamn _thoughts_ again. He's seen it happening for a long time, it started about midway after he ended up as Stuart's caretaker. Murdoc's beginning to realize he doesn't just want to fuck him, he wants...more. He doesn't want to think about it, but this morning 2D's whole attitude toward sex brought the sodding thing to the surface. Now he knows 2D wants more, too.

"Damnit. Damn you, Stuart. Fuck. You."

And then muttering under his breath, "No. Fuck me. It's all my fault anyway." And Murdoc turns his back on 2D so that he doesn't see the tears that are coming out of his eyes. He hadn't wanted more than a keyboardist. He hadn't planned on creating this monster, a pretty man-boy with shit for brains who was the perfect punching bag, perfect for a quick shag, completely perfect except for being completely devoted to him. _Completely._ It was as if 2D didn't even know he was innocent when Murdoc punched or kicked or tripped him; he just went along with it with the calmness of Saint Anthony being buggered by demons.

He and 2D, they'd do this shit again. Even if the band broke up tomorrow, they'd still be fighting, lighting up, shagging, and then going about their business like none of it ever happened. They'd sleep with as many women as they could (and in 2D's case, other men as well) or at least tell each other they were fucking the bitches. "Friends with benefits," the groupies called it. A modern kind of love.

He hears 2D roll over in bed. "C'mere," he says, and stretches out his long spidery hands, brushing up against Murdoc's back. "I'm cold."

"Christ, you are," Murdoc says without turning, and really, the man's hands are frigid.

So he lazily wipes his face with his arm, sweeps his fringe over his eyes so it's less evident how red they are (heck, he could always say it was the weed) and turns around to 2D. "I'll get you warmed up." Murdoc finds himself resting on his singer's bony ribcage, cold skinny arms pressed around him. He can hear the heart beating beneath. 2D's only 24, he could bed anyone in the world, and he's sleeping with a dirty old man.

[End.]


End file.
